


Play The Harp Or Burn

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Celebutante AU, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Everyone here is a mess and I love them, Everyone is Real Shitty about protecting their I m a g e, Kylux Big Bang, M/M, Mentioned Brendol Hux, Offscreen Parental Homophobia, Rock Musician Kylo, fashion designer hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: He’s already frowning by the time he’s demolished a bag of leftover catered hors d’oeuvres from one of Leia’s industry affairs and stumbled into a ragged black tee and jeans. He can practically feel Hux - the younger Hux, the haute couture head designer, who wouldn’t know good music if it fell into his manicured hands - glaring at him from across the boardroom. Hux, comfortably grandfathered into First Order Records with a fistful of his late father’s shares. Hux, perpetually sneering, always the first to find a cutting remark. Hux, the absolute bastard (and God help anyone who mentioned it).Kylo would strangle him if he could stop waking up hard over him.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 233
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2019





	Play The Harp Or Burn

**Author's Note:**

> _"It’s Hell, it’s Heaven: the amount you earn  
>  Determines if you play the harp or burn."  
> _  
> -Bertolt Brecht, Hollywood Elegies

The subheadline hangs over a grainy studio photograph, one that Kylo recognizes from the wall of Snoke’s office, two men leaning back against what passed for a mixing console in the early nineties. Brendol Hux’s arms are crossed over his chest, face cold. Snoke offers what passes for a smile on his gnarled lips into the camera.

“ _With the loss of its second founding member and its cultural collateral on the line, First Order Records faces a crucial juncture._ ”

Kylo heaves a sigh and tosses the magazine onto the glass tabletop in front of the sofa.

“God damnit.” He murmurs, one arm coming up to crook over his eyes.

It’s noon already. He should be working out. He should at least be wearing more than yoga pants. But fuck it, honestly. His own face broods up at him from the back cover alongside the Knights of Ren’s upcoming tour dates. He still can’t believe he has to play the Borgata. 

Luke had never had to play the Borgata, not even in the sunset days of his career, long after the feathered hair and questionable poncho-related choices. And with Rey on the label he’d founded after he split, now (traitor), she’d never have to, either. So why the hell does he have to throw his lot in with a bunch of has-beens and Jersey DJs?

“Mom?” He calls out, not lifting his arm. The house is silent in response. Kylo grumbles to himself, “Great.”

Stumbling off the white leather sofa, he flips off the fireplace and pads into the kitchen. He paws idly through the contents of the fridge, only half-seeing. The board meeting is in half an hour. He’ll make it from Bel Air to Santa Monica with time to kill.

He’s already frowning by the time he’s demolished a bag of leftover catered hors d’oeuvres from one of Leia’s industry affairs and stumbled into a ragged black tee and jeans. He can practically feel Hux - the younger Hux, the haute couture head designer, who wouldn’t know good music if it fell into his manicured hands - glaring at him from across the boardroom. Hux, comfortably grandfathered into First Order Records with a fistful of his late father’s shares. Hux, perpetually sneering, always the first to find a cutting remark. Hux, the absolute bastard (and God help anyone who mentioned it).

Kylo would strangle him if he could stop waking up hard over him.

***

There is a place for everything at the studio desk. A sleek black lamp with a well-oiled adjustable arm. Wide, glossy touch screen monitor. Precisely enough spaces in the caddy for the necessary array of colored pens. Fabric scissors aggressively labelled with their purpose in red p-touch tape. The white tabletop surface is protected from the potential of tea stains by both a dizzying array of gold-edged black marble coasters carefully tucked into the top right hand drawer and the frequent, judicious application of dye free, citrus-scented cleaner. 

The smell of it lingers on Hux’s hands, always, through the racing thoughts of morning and into the long, caffeinated nights. As he tends to the collection of succulents, regimented like soldiers on the sill of the wide window. As he dissolves into a flurry of sketching. When the studio is empty in the evening, and he presses his face into his palms to draw a steadying breath. 

His phone pips from its charging stand just beside the swatch stackbook. Hux winces and plucks it up to silence it. Already time to face down his father’s sycophants. And now, for the first time, Snoke’s shares no doubt already burning a hole in his pocket, Ren.

His wide-brimmed bolero hat - he’d resisted as long as he could, but the rising tide of Nu Goth had made it a reluctant editorial look necessity - is only a step away on the industrial steel coat tree. He arranges his hair beneath it, gives a stern, meaningful glance to the employees outside the glass-walled office, and is on his way.

***

The F430 is coiled speed. Glistening black Alcoa aluminum chassis, 4308 cc V8 petrol engine, zero to sixty in 3.6 seconds. With the top down, the roar of the road at speed can drown out even Kylo’s stubbornest thoughts. When he opens it up, it’s as if he melts into nothing.

It’s a tragedy that it’s caged up by Wilshire Boulevard. But the 405 had been a nightmare - is _always_ a nightmare - and he’d had no other choice. Every stoplight taunts him, transforms the soft growl of the engine into a dull purr. Kylo pulls at his hair with one hand, groaning.

“Fucking _move_ .” He spits at the Accord in front of him. It totters into the intersection just as the light flickers from yellow to red, and he grumbles beneath his breath, “Stupid, ancient, _slow-_ ”

A white Flying Spur glides into his peripheral vision, and suddenly Kylo is all heat and electricity just beneath the skin. He hazards a glance at the driver and is rewarded with a glimpse of immaculate red hair before he pushes his eyes back to the road. Shit, if Hux is still on the way to the studio office, Kylo might actually be early, for once. 

He takes a moment to gather his features before he looks back into the Bentley. Hux is pin-straight in the seat, and Kylo snorts to himself. Finally, the weight of his gaze pulls Hux’s head towards him. He arches one architecturally plucked brow. 

Kylo lets his hand drop to the gearshift and urges a snarl from the engine with the sole of his boot. Hux rolls his eyes, but Kylo can see his shoulders stiffen. He looks back to the road, fingers tight on the wheel, and strenuously does not answer the roar of the engine in kind. Kylo huffs.

“Asshole.” He breathes.

The light blossoms back to green, and Kylo howls into first. He’s a full length ahead of Hux by second. Scowling, he watches him drop behind him in the rearview mirror.

A low growl, “Fine, be a snob.”

A block and a half east, Hux pinches the bridge of his nose. The albatross of voting a considerable interest in First Order Records with Ren feels infinitely heavier around his neck at the sight of Ren. His father had had few complaints when producing for Luke Skywalker in his early days. Had a single generation of luxury rotted the family tree so completely? Had Brendol known, when he’d been dictating his lengthy will, that he’d been press ganging Hux into a lifetime of board meetings with Snoke’s “prodigy”? 

Of course he had known. Even if he hadn’t, there’s no doubt that he’s roaring with laughter in Hell, now. 

***

The police officer holds Kylo up almost thirty minutes as he tries to wriggle out of the speeding ticket. He invokes Leia, Luke, his own album, all fruitlessly. When he storms into the boardroom, all of the chairs are occupied except the one to his mother’s left. Her lips are pursed. 

“I was on time.” He barks before she can speak, “I just got caught up on the way.”

“So it would seem.” Hux drawls.

Kylo had tried to ignore the Bentley as it glided past, but had found himself pounding both fists into the steering wheel nonetheless. He can nearly taste the lingering smirk. Sprawling down into the last armchair, Kylo casts a dark glance around the table.

Leia, he knows, still represents Luke’s estate. She’d been his lawyer for years, has championed their interests with leonine vigor since before Kylo was born. A perpetual thorn in Snoke’s side, swooping in monthly from her own office at Resistance Studios to do battle with the board. On her opposite side, Moden Canady, an absolute relic, already looks distinctly ruffled. Beside him is Edrison Peavey, silently seething at his placement next to the younger Hux. Hux’s professional disinterest has built an invisible wall between the two of them, with Peavey’s day planner marking out the edge of the demilitarized zone against Hux’s spotless iPad pro. On Hux’s left, Dopheld Mitaka looks, as always, an inch or two from flight. He tenses visibly as Kylo sinks down between him and Leia.

“Now that we’re all assembled-” Leia begins, sparing a pointed glance at Kylo, “-we can begin to arrange for the future of this company.”

“We need a new image.” Kylo cuts in, “Everyone thinks we’re just spinning our wheels with all the money Snoke made in the seventies.”

Leia’s eyebrows cant. Across the table, Hux’s cool eyes lift from iPad to give him an inscrutable look.

“With all of the media attention Finn has begun to enjoy, changing course from our current publicity campaign will cost a fortune in wasted opportunity.” Canady grunts.

“Finn is planning to defect to Resistance Studios for his next album.” Hux notes.

Peavey bristles, straightening, “Wh-”

“What?!” Kylo snaps over him, “How the fuck do you know that?!”

“He’s been seen with your cousin and her little friend all over town.” Hux says, “Two Saturdays in a row at Avalon. They clearly have plans.” 

Kylo reels back, “With Rey and Dameron?” He whirls on Leia, seething, “You’re poaching our talent?!”

Leia’s lips thin, “I’m doing no such thing. Finn’s contract with FOR was for two albums. His advances are more than paid back.” 

Growling, Kylo shoves his chair back from the table and rises, “Jesus Christ!”

Beside him, Mitaka flinches. Hux frowns.

“Sit down, Ren.” He intones.

“Oh, fuck you!” Kylo barks, “You knew about this and didn’t do anything?!”

“I was waiting for confirmation to act.” Hux sniffs, then turns to Leia, “Thank you for that, Counsellor Organa.”

Leia watches him for a long moment, then folds her hands in front of her on the table, “I’m not confirming or denying anything.”

Kylo snarls and begins pacing the length of the room.

“Of course.” Hux says. He regards the others at the table, “Shall we act under the assumption that we’ll soon need to elevate another artist on our roster?”

Canady crosses his arms, “It seems so.” 

Wincing, Mitaka nods his agreement. Peavey buries himself in furiously shuffling the stack of files in front of him, but grumbles assent.

“Come _on!_ ” Kylo cries, “We’re just going to take that?!”

“I’ve reviewed the contracts. Counsellor Organa’s assessment is correct.” Hux notes, “Our best move is forge ahead without him.”

Kylo pauses by his chair only long enough to fling it onto its side, “Fuck that!” He wheels toward Leia, “I’m not taking this shit!”

“This is the nature of this business.” Hux clips, voice tight, consonants sharp.

“Ben. Inappropriate.” Leia hisses.

“Oh, _inappropriate._ ” Kylo mocks, “Inappropriate this.” He shoves her notes from the table in a flurry of paper and post-its, and then he’s through the door before they settle on the ground.

Hux watches him go, mouth a thin line, and ignores Mitaka’s startled stare. He clears his throat and turns back to the others, “Well.”

Peavey is on one knee, collecting Leia’s paperwork. He peeks up over the table at Hux’s voice, “We can’t vote a consensus without Snoke’s interest unless we’re nearly unanimous, you know.”

Hux takes a slow breath, “I am aware of that, Mister Peavey. Are you suggesting that we adjourn this meeting?”

“Do you have something to bring to the table that you expect to be unanimous?” Peavey questions as he returns to his seat. He slides the papers over to Leia, who gives a grateful nod.

Hux’s jaw tenses. Mitaka is pale beside him, and even Canady regards him with uncertainty, “...I can understand your hesitation.” He admits.

“Let me try calling him.” Leia offers.

“Forgive my skepticism,” Hux says and rises, “But if you reach him, I can be back from my studio in a half hour. I have work to do.”

Leia sighs, “Understood.” She gets to her feet, “I hope this doesn’t affect our agreement regarding the wardrobe for the Knights’s tour.”

“The collection is previously contracted, Counsellor Organa.” Hux sniffs, “I honor my contracts.”

“Good.”

***

Even the engine can’t drown out the rush of blood in his ears. Kylo yanks at his hair with one hand, the other clenched around the wheel, white-knuckled. Of course, of _course_ Leia and Hux had both known. Wasn’t that just like them, keeping him in the dark? Just how long had they been waiting to spring this on him? _Weeks?_ He lets free a litany of curses.

He remembers walking countless red carpets with her, always, always just behind both of the Huxes. Watching Hux, young and skinny but immaculate, smirking back at them between offering precocious answers to reporters. At least then he’d had Rey, her arm always slung over his shoulders as they posed for photos until he’d grown too tall for her. Grinning and laughing, her tan skin making his look even more sullen under the flashbulbs. Him, gawky, ungainly, lurking an inch or two behind Leia and Han (god, how long had it been since he’d been in a photo with _Han?_ ). Rey and Luke pulling every eye to them with bright eyes and brighter smiles, Leia’s most earnest praise reserved only for them.

Rey, breaking her contract with First Order Records, freeing herself with the tsunami of funds from her first album. Leia fighting at her side, helping her dart through loopholes away from him. She’d always said she’d take him with her. Liar, liar, _liar._

Her voice is on the radio. Raw, soulful, contemplative alto over guitar, growing in warmth as the drumbeat falls into place. He nearly howls and brings the car to a screeching halt. All long limbs and fury, he scrambles out, away from her voice, away from her success, away from Hux’s sneer and Leia’s condescension, livid at his inability to escape his own body, too. 

There’s an alley nearby, a tangle of battered cans and broken down boxes. Kylo stalks into it and launches a kick at the nearest can. It clangs satisfyingly against his steel-toed boot and flies deeper into the alley. Another follows it, then another. He’s using his fists, now, too, opening his knuckles up raw. Metal bends back around his forearm with the force of it.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ” He’s slavering it like a mantra. His hands are white-hot, now, and there’s blood trickling down to his wrists. He brings a foot into the side of a dumpster, cracks through the rusted corner of it and stomps again, just for good measure.

“Hey. Hey!” There’s a door hanging open behind one of the two restaurants that flank the alley, a woman leaning out of it, scowling, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He freezes, scowling, shoulders shaking. There’s wet in his hands, warm, and he clenches them around it. His lungs burn. 

“Jesus, aren’t you that guy from the Knights of Ren?” She asks.

Kylo hisses and turns on his heel.

“Who’s gonna’ pay for this?!” She shouts after him as he flees.

The radio is still blaring in his car as he throws himself into the driver’s seat. His fixes his bruised hands around the wheel. There’s a long scrape down his right forearm, and red dribbles down from his elbow and onto the center console. Fuck it, fuck it. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t the first time he’s had to have the interior cleaned after an episode. The woman is still staring at him from the mouth of the alley as he peels out.

***

Except for the bare necessities, Hux has cleared the studio countertops for the fitting. Better to be safe than sorry. He hardly intends to have to clean up after one of Ren’s sweeping, dramatic fits of pique. “ _Another Skywalker Heir Meltdown in Santa Monica Alleyway”,_ TMZ had crowed after their last meeting. Hux, appalled to be called for comment in the first place, had remained silent in regards to the grainy footage of Ren annihilating a restaurant’s refuse bins. 

Over the course of the week, he’s taken the measurements of the other six Knights of Ren. Ren himself has been, of course, evasive as always. Has scheduled and then cancelled his fitting thrice. The last time, Hux had threatened to let him wear his own clothing onstage, to which Ren had, with a slurry of frenzied typos, agreed, and for which Leia had apologized through gritted teeth an hour after.

Which is why he has to look twice when Ren slouches through the door in his leather jacket and sunglasses and leans up expectantly against the studio wall. When the normal chatter of the workroom falls quiet, Hux rises from his desk. He smooths away an imagined wrinkle from his dress shirt (Balmain, the previous season’s collection, time having now rendered it casual enough to wear to work) and steps over to him.

“You came.” He notes dryly, extending a hand.

“Whatever.” Kylo grumbles. His own hands stay fisted in his pockets. 

“Charming.” Hux sniffs, “Follow me.”

He leads him towards his work station, Kylo skulking behind him like a thundercloud rolling over the plains of the studio. 

“Lunch.” Hux clips, not looking up. His staff scatters.

“What, are you ashamed to be seen with me?’ Kylo grates.

Hux fixes him with a cold stare, “I value their morale.”

“And what, I’m gonna’ tank it?”

“You seem to be considering it.”

“Shut up.”

Rolling his eyes, Hux plucks the measuring tape from the table, “Jacket off.”

Lips gathering into a petulant moue, Kylo shrugs it off. The pages of Hux’s sketchbook flutter as he tosses it down onto the tabletop, and then he shoves his hands back into the pockets of his jeans. Hux’s nostrils flare.

“You might also consider that this is a favor.” He hisses.

“I don’t see why you of all people should owe my Mom any favors.” Kylo shoots back, “Your Dad sure made a career of making her life difficult.”

“No, I’m certain you don’t.” Hux huffs.

Kylo watches him expectantly, but Hux remains silent. When he steps in to loop the tape measure around his throat, Kylo feels his pulse jump.

“You don’t have to do that.” Hux tells him after a moment.

“Do what?”

“Hold your breath.” Hux replies, “It doesn’t help get an accurate measurement.”

He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding it, but as Hux slips a finger up between the tape and his neck, Kylo stutters out an exhalation. Hux’s eyes flick up to him. Kylo refuses to meet them. They hang, motionless, in one another’s gravity for a sliver of a moment before Hux steps back to take down the measurement in his notebook. Kylo takes a deep breath.

“Lift your arms a bit.” Hux orders when he returns to him.

Kylo obeys. It tugs his hands back out of his pockets, and he can see Hux’s gaze fall down onto them. The knuckles are still cracked and bruised, fading scratches spidering across the backs. He’d cancelled their fittings as long as he could, but Leia had been relentless, and he wasn’t about to wear admit defeat and wear gloves.

Hux says nothing. His lips are pursed as his long fingers fix the tape in place around Kylo’s chest. Kylo can see his arms strain with the effort of not bringing their bodies together as he does. 

“Relax.” Hux commands.

Kylo lets his arms sink to his sides, “...What’d my Mom do for you, anyway?” He asks after a few seconds.

“A favor.” Hux says.

“Come on.” Kylo presses.

“We aren’t teenagers, Ren, you aren’t my personal confidant.” Hux fires back. He makes another note and lingers near the tabletop for a pull from his mug of tea.

Kylo had thought that they might be friends, for a time, when he was thirteen, Hux a much more glamorous sixteen. The mid 2000s had seen a resurgence in the Bohemian fashion that had made his Uncle a legend, and Kylo, still a few years away from his scene phase, had taken cues from him eagerly. Hux had praised him, then, just once, on the seersucker suit he’d been wearing backstage at a summer Gala. It would be the next year that Hux would wrestle himself out of his father’s grip and found his clothing label, Finalizer, and he already looked it. He was long and lean and elegant, a full head taller than Kylo for at least another handful of months.

“But you have frosting just here.” Hux had mused just afterwards, and brushed his thumb over the corner of Kylo’s mouth, and Kylo was caught.

His fingers are tracing down the center line of Kylo’s abdomen. One of them brushes his belly button, and Hux sets the tape just above it.

“How many fucking measurements do you have to take?” Kylo grunts. 

“Fifteen is traditional.” Hux tells him, “Perhaps more. It depends on which of the potential designs we choose.”

“Designs?” Kylo glances towards the sketchbook, “...Wait, _fifteen?_ ”

“Neck, chest, waist, seat, shirt length-” Hux begins ticking them off on his fingers.

“I- whatever. Fine, stop, whatever.” Kylo groans.

“I do this every day, Ren, it’ll be quick.” Hux tells him, “All of your Knights have suffered the indignity and somehow survived.” He adds with a huff.

“Are you going to be there?” Kylo says, “On the tour?”

“Whatever for?” Hux chuckles.

“I’ve seen the shit you make. It’s- it’s complicated.”

Hux’s brows lift, “Am I going to come be your _dresser_?” He snorts.

“I don’t know what it’s called.”

“I’m a _designer,_ Ren.” Hux drawls, “I’m not hired help. I don’t even supervise wardrobe any longer.”

“What’s the difference?”

Hux rolls his eyes, “You’re a brute, do you know that?”

Kylo’s retort dies on his tongue when Hux kneels to snake the tape around his hips.

***

Hux smears the heel of one hand across his eyes. The display on his phone -a miniature imitation of an analog clock- bores a bleary quarter after two into the half-darkened studio. Of course, of _course_ none of the designs had been to his liking. Why had he even expected that there would be any part of this that would go smoothly?

‘Too boring’, ‘too normal’, ‘too stuffy’, Kylo had muttered as he’d flipped past Hux’s sketches one after the other.

He’s doing this set in watercolor, a loose, gestural mess in grayscale, much like the man himself. Perhaps that had been his error. Anticipating a modicum of taste from Ren. Ren, half feral, bucking against any hint of restraint.

Hux catches his breath skipping. Oh, no, no. Absolutely not. He was not doing this. His eyes trace over the brush strokes on the page, the swell of Kylo’s broad shoulders. No, no, _no._ There isn’t room. His digs his opposite set of nails into his palm. _Idiot, idiot. Stop it._

He sets his mouth into a thin line. _Focus._ What does Ren want from him? Something tattered, unrefined? The usual dreck that he wears on red carpets? He’s come to the wrong place, if so.

He hasn’t, Hux supposes, come of his own accord. Unsurprising. Leia has always had a hand on the reins, yanking Ren into the modicum of a career that he maintains.

Hux wrinkles his nose. An absolute disaster of a man, truly. Frustratingly unquantifiable, nonetheless. With a sigh, he thumbs open the music app on his tablet. He’s heard snippets of Ren’s music here and there. The idea of submerging himself in it now makes his mouth sour, but perhaps it’ll offer some insight.

Howling guitar and teeth-chattering drums burst out of the small speaker on his desktop. Hux winces. Noise. Complete noise. 

Still, Ren’s vocals are surprisingly assured. Snoke, Hux remembers, had been hand-picking Ren’s vocal coaches for years before his death. Shaping him, much to Leia’s disdain. 

Hux can almost respect him for the dynasty disruption alone. Luke’s image had been pristine, the ultimate feathered-haired, honey-voiced pop icon of the seventies. Sweet, relatable. The Knights of Ren pretend to no such amiability. They’re all tooth and claw, without a hint of guile.

Pursing his lips, Hux glances back down over his designs. Perhaps that’s what’s missing. Perhaps Ren likes to think of himself as more creature than man. Something shudders in Hux’s chest and he hurriedly pushes aside the idea of Ren’s enormous hands tight around his wrists. Something animal, then. No, something _monstrous._

***

“Are you going to participate this year?” Leia is asking him from the kitchen.

Kylo groans and shoves a hand back through his hair, splays back out on the couch, “Jesus, Mom. _No._ I’m not going to go on a fucking charity date.”

“Rey is going to.”

He rolls his eyes, “Right. Of course. Because if Rey’s doing it, how could I not?”

“I’m just saying that _some_ of the family is giving back this year.”

“We’re not even related.”

Leia shoots him a sharp glance from over lunch, “Don’t you even start. She’s family.”

Kylo snorts, “Yeah, your favorite child, right. How could I forget?”

“Ben-” Leia sighs.

“ _Mom._ ”

“I’m not calling you by a stage name in my own house.” She huffs, “You’re my son _._ ”

“I’m not doing your stupid date auction.” Kylo fires back.

“You’re going to be there, why not contribute?”

Kylo sits up sharply, “What?! Why do I have to go?” 

Leia drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter, “Do we have to do this every year? You’re _going._ ”

“Fuck’s sake.” He growls, “I’m not a teenager anymore, you can’t just-”

“You live in my house.” She jabs a finger towards him, “You can follow my rules. And that includes being part of this family.”

“Oh, always!” He howls, “You want me to live here, don’t you?!”

“I want to make sure you have a place to stay!”

“I could have a place to stay without you!”

Leia gives a bitter laugh, “And commute into the studio from what, a one-bedroom in San Bernardino? You’re already late as it is.”

Kylo grits his teeth, “I’m not-”

“You don’t have to auction off a date. God knows how you’d behave, anyway. You _are_ going.” Leia cuts him off, rising as she lifts her plate to take it to the sink, “This is not a negotiation.”

“Fine.” Kylo snarls. He watches her darkly as she sweeps through the living room, then turns up the volume on the television until it drowns out the sound of her footfalls in the hall.

***

Kylo swears that he’s being strangled. He’s been able to avoid a suit for months, but the auction is a creative black tie affair. The black suits him. The tie is purgatory. He curls a finger into his collar and tugs, huffing a sigh.

The line for the red carpet trails back away from the glistening windows of the Taglyan Complex, onto the paved garden paths. Kylo watches the lights change color in the fountains, shifting his weight between wingtipped feet.

“Stop.” Leia breathes at his side, “They’ll say you were fidgeting all night.”

Kylo rolls his eyes, “Can’t imagine why.” He sneers.

“Leia! Ben!”

Rey’s smiling broadly as she crosses the gardens to join them, the flowing skirt of her green evening gown an ever-changing, effervescent meadow as she walks. Leia embraces her as soon as she reaches them. Rey worries at her lip for a moment before reaching out to squeeze Kylo’s arm.

“Glad you made it.” She says softly. 

“Press-ganged.” He grunts. Leia treads minutely on his foot.

Rey turns to her, brightening once more, “Everyone is saying that the auction list looked exciting this year.”

Leia gives a modest chuckle, “I try to keep up.”

“Are you going on a date?” Rey asks, looking to Kylo.

“No.” He says immediately.

“Not even bidding?” She asks.

He arches an eyebrow, “Who would I even bid on?”

Rey gives a small shrug, “Kaydel’s doing one. And Finn.”

Kylo frowns, “First of all, fuck Finn.”

“Ben!” Leia hisses.

“And second, isn’t he seeing someone?” He continues.

Rey gives a little grin, “Maybe. Might have helped get them together.”

“So what’s he doing at a date auction?”

“It’s for charity, it’s not serious.” She says, “Besides, isn’t your-?”

Kylo blinks, “My what?”

“Hux is going on one, right?”

“How would I know?” Kylo snorts.

“You’re not…?” Rey trails off, arching an eyebrow.

Kylo gapes, “What?!”

“ _OC Weekly_ said he’s designing your tour.”

“No. _No._ ” Kylo bites.

“Thank god.” Rey gives a sigh of relief, “He’s awful.”

Kylo pauses, “...Wait, what did they say?”

“Just that you’d been going to his studio. You know, the usual speculation.” Rey says. 

“Once! I went _once!_ ” Kylo huffs, “Just for measurements!” He wheels on Leia, “This is your fault, you know.”

She hushes him quickly as they approach the front of the line, taking his arm. Kylo frowns and braces himself. He squints into the flurry of flashbulbs as they set foot onto the carpet. Each time they find another microphone aimed their way, he sways back from it. Leia more than makes up for his reticence. By the time they make it to the doors, he can trace out full constellations of afterimages every time he closes his eyes. He groans quietly to himself as they pass through into the foyer. 

The muffled strains of a string quartet drift through the open doors to the ballroom. Kylo looks towards the bar. 

“Half an hour.” Leia tells him pointedly.

“I know, I know.” He grumbles.

She taps her watch once, and then turns, her heels clicking against marble floor as she makes for the ballroom. Kylo sinks onto a barstool, deflating with relief. He polishes off a rum and coke, then another two, before it’s time to make his way inside. 

The wide glass ceiling soars above the ballroom, lit up celestial blue and glistening with heavy chandeliers. Guests are seated around the periphery at tables heavy-laden with architectural floral arrangements and gold-rimmed dishes. Kylo spots Leia at one of them and, with as little swaying as he can manage, drops down into the seat beside her.

“Why isn’t Uncle Luke here?” He grumbles.

“He- have you been drinking?” She asks.

“Only a little.”

Leia gives a sharp little huff through her nose, “Oh, perfect.” She looks out onto the floor, lips tight, “...He’s out of the country. A few performances in Germany.”

Kylo watches her for a moment, then gives a quiet, bitter laugh, “He scheduled a tour just to miss this.”

“Don’t.” Leia warns.

Beside each place setting lays a numbered bidding paddle. Kylo fiddles with his as the lights surrounding the floor dim and the evening’s emcee - Kylo wrinkles his nose at the sight of him, all tousled curls and boyish charm - takes his place in the spotlight. 

“Good evening, distinguished guests.” He greets them with a cocky grin that Kylo has known since he was seven years old, “I’m Poe Dameron, your host for this evening’s festivities.”

Had Hux known, when he agreed to this, that Poe would be here? That Poe would be _hosting_ the whole miserable dog and pony show? Kylo can’t imagine that he would have let himself be seen dead here if he had. Not after all the rumors when they were in college. The tabloid photos of them squirreled away in hole in the wall coffee shops just off of Pratt’s campus. Brendol Hux’s strenuous denial. And then, a handful of weeks later, his son’s highly publicized but visually ascetic relationship with a statuesque blonde woman. More than a decade later, Phasma still models for Finalizer every season. Sometimes, when she isn’t seeing someone, she appears on Hux’s arm at events. Otherwise, he attends alone.

Kylo chews his lip and ignores the first several dates to be auctioned. Leia, mouth pursed, pinches the side of his hand, and spares her a short glare.

“You could at least help drive up the prices.” She whispers, “It’s for charity.”

“I’m not going to deal with some stupid rag talking about who I’m ‘dating’ just for charity.” Kylo grunts.

“Oh, you’d rather they keep going with the angle they are now?” She says, brows lifting, “Rey said-”

“I know what Rey said.” Kylo hisses.

Leia’s eyes flash, “Do _not_ take that tone with me.”

Kylo groans and leans back in his chair. Another bachelorette, stunning in a white evening gown, waves winningly as her date sells. Kylo scowls to himself. It would serve both of them right if the tabloids did keep buzzing. Just try and spin both of their perfect images around that. 

He pauses.

Leia claps as Rey sweeps onto the floor and, after a frenzy of bidding, adds nearly two thousand dollars to the night’s tally. Kylo’s fingers twitch for the handle of the paddle as Poe leads her offstage, both with wide smiles. Two more rounds of the auction pass. Kylo curls his hand around the handle and waits. Leia gives him a relieved glance.

“Good.” She sighs, “Let’s-”

And then Hux is walking into the light. His suit is immaculate, fit close to his body. There’s an elegant slash of wine red around the cuff of one tuxedo jacket sleeve, mirrored in the crisp pocket square he wears along with it. There’s a brutal symmetry to the jacket’s lapels, and its sharp shoulders augment the narrow taper of his black-vested waist. Kylo takes a breath.

Poe is reciting a list of Hux’s accomplishments, his interests. Hux’s lips are fixed into a tight smile, but his eyes skim the crowd. Kylo feels his jaw clench. 

“Let’s start our bidding at two hundred.” Poe concludes, sweeping out an arm.

A woman at the table to Kylo’s right takes up the bid, and is quickly outbid by another across the floor.

“Four hundred.” Kylo intones.

Leia’s eyes widen, and Hux’s face jerks towards the sound of his voice. A quiet murmur breathes through the audience.

“What are you doing?” Leia grits through her teeth.

Hux’s features nearly slip. Kylo can see him carefully school them into place as the bid circles the crowd once more, climbing by another few hundred.

Kylo lifts his arm again, “A thousand.” He says.

“ _Ben._ ” Leia, too, is wearing a practiced smile now. Her voice cuts under it, molten. 

Poe’s patter dips for just a moment, and then he’s back on. Hux is refusing to look at Kylo. The line of his shoulders is a knife blade. Another man -the first besides Kylo- chances a bid, and Kylo sees Hux stifle a flinch. 

Leia is gripping his knee beneath the table, “Stop it.” She whispers.

“Fifteen hundred.” Kylo shoots back.

“Jesus, Ben.”

For a moment, he thinks it’ll end there. And then another man chimes in, and the bidding sweeps towards two thousand. Hux is motionless, cheeks flushed red with fury, although his face remains staunchly placid. When Kylo offers twenty one hundred, there’s another pause.

“Going once.” Poe says.

Hux finally turns his gaze on him. His eyes blaze with cold indignation. Kylo grins, sees Hux’s throat work as he swallows down rage. 

“Going twice.”

Hux’s nostrils flare.

“Sold! Congratulations.”

“We are going to have a long discussion when we get home.” Leia sears under her breath.

***

The small room squeezed between the kitchen and the ballroom is a cramped maelstrom of bachelors and bachelorettes congratulating one another, packing away their things, pulling on their outerwear. Hux, coat in hands, stares dazedly at one wall. He can still feel his pulse slamming against his temples. Ren. _Ren._ Of all the horrendous outcomes he’d envisioned for this wretched evening, he had never for a moment predicted-

“Congratulations, Armie.”

He jumps, looks back over his shoulder, barely keeps from wincing at the potent combination of the childhood nickname mixed with Rey’s playful grin.

“And you.” He offers, forcing the tension from his limbs, “Well done, truly.”

“Came in second, though, didn’t I?” She begins. 

“Is that Alexander McQueen you’re wearing?” He cuts her off.

She gives a distracted nod, “Mm.” And then, one eyebrow lifting, “Are you really going to-”

“Beautifully styled.” He continues, “The belt is an elegant touch.”

Rey watches him for a long moment, a hint of a smirk dancing at the corners of her lips, “Thank you.”

He gives a curt nod, then begins to shrug into his coat, eyes averted. She ducks her head a sliver of an inch to meet his gaze.

“...Are you actually going to go on yours?” She asks bemusedly.

Hux’s face hardens. His nails are digging into his palms, knuckles white, “I hardly intend to return money donated to charity.”

Rey’s lips tug into another grin, “Good luck.”

***

  
  
  


Hux prepares for it as if riding into battle. Hair parted with knife-like precision, armored in Yves Saint Laurent. His shoes reflect each pinprick of light cast by the chandelier in the foyer as he pulls on his coat. 

He can almost smell them outside. There has been at least one photographer waiting at the end of the driveway every evening since the auction. Hux has begun keeping late hours at the studio and found them, dauntless, every night on his return. All of the shades are drawn, and still he feels them there, like a film clinging to his skin.

The first flash bursts the moment he walks through the door. He gives a cursory nod to the handful of gathered paparazzi beyond the driveway gate and then turns his gaze away. The car waiting for him is a sleek BMW with tinted windows. He slides into the back seat, and the photographers scatter towards their own.

“Mr. Hux.” The driver greets him.

“Good evening.” Hux returns the favor, and without another word, they’re off. 

Splashes of orange and pink already watercolor the sky, floating on top of a growing band of blue-purple. Hux checks his watch and then over his shoulder for the fifth time in as many minutes. Their convoy of publicity has grown. He allows himself a scowl. Precise arrival will be a necessity. Less time lost to waiting. Less opportunity.

“What’s our ETA?” He asks quietly.

“Six fifty-seven, sir.’

Hux takes a slow breath. It’ll have to do. He takes another peek over his shoulder, then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Thumbing through the results for his name on a handful of media sites brings up the cascade of post-auction articles that he’s already combed. 

For not the first time, he silently thanks whatever higher power might exist that his Father is already dead. If he weren’t, this might have done it. The ancient photos of him with Poe have been coughed up into the news cycle as ‘evidence’. Hux can still feel the ghost of bruises along his cheek and jaw when he thinks of them, can hear the strain in Brendol’s voice, remembers the weight of the phone in his sweating palm as he’d pleaded with Phasma to be seen with him.

Perhaps, if he survives this night, they can rekindle their arrangement.

***

The warm evening breeze tugs at Kylo’s hair. Above him, Vespertine is a serpentine monolith of glass and steel. There’s incense burning somewhere in the gardens, the fragrance shivering through the tall grass. Kylo shuts his eyes to draw in a deep breath. At the edge of the property, just beyond the disapproving stare of the valets, photographers have already gathered like a murder of crows. A scowl plays over his lips, and he leans back further into the corner of the stone slab garden benches.

He recognizes Leia’s driver as her white BMW whispers into the parking lot. A procession of vehicles behind it begin searching for street parking. Shoulders stiffening, Kylo cranes his neck to peer through the greenery. A cacophony of flashes score the sunset the moment Hux slips out of the back seat. Kylo’s breath catches in his throat.

Hux’s slender frame is tucked into a long, single-breasted blazer, tightly embroidered in black on black. Beneath it, gauzy black silk, buttoned up to just beneath the chin. He moves with the cold, hardened poise of a ballet master. Kylo rises. It’s only when his knuckles sing with strain that he realizes that he’s clenching his fists.

“Good evening.” Hux’s voice is practiced and cool. He extends a cordial hand.

“H’lo.” Kylo manages, shaking it. Hux’s drops from his grip the moment he finishes.

“So.” Hux regards him.

Kylo glances back over his shoulder, “Champagne? They serve it-”

“In the gardens, I know.”

Kylo blinks, “Have you been here before?”

Hux shakes his head, “I’ve only heard. I’ve not been-” And then a hint of color rises to his cheeks, “I haven’t had the time for evenings out of late. Shall we?”

Nodding quickly, Kylo motions to one of the waitstaff. She returns with two glasses just as they’re getting seated.

“I didn’t expect you to have such avant-garde tastes.” Hux notes after a long sip.

Kylo frowns, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hux inclines his head towards the structure looming over Kylo’s shoulder, “Rather modern, isn’t it?”

“I like modern.” Kylo insists.

Hux’s brows cant, “Do you?”

“It’s-” Kylo struggles for words against the onslaught of Hux’s pale throat working around another sip, “-nice.”

“Nice.” Hux repeats with a flicker of amusement.

“Shut up.” Kylo murmurs, flushing.

“It is, I suppose.” Hux says.

Silence, broken only by the occasional distinctive click of a camera shutter, presses down over them. The champagne disappears, and then they’re led by another member of the staff into the restaurant proper. Hux feels his spine minutely loosen in relief.

“They say this is quite a comprehensive dining experience.” He chances once they’re positioned beside a long standing table.

“Site said four or five hours.” Kylo says.

Hux does his best not to balk, “I see.” He can’t remember their last four or five minute amiable conversation. Imagines the public nightmare of being not only pursued, but then walked out on, by Kylo Ren.

“...What on earth possessed you?” Hux finally manages over their indecipherable first course.

“Possessed me to what?”

Hux gestures between them, “This.” He says, “I suppose I’ve offended you somehow, is that it?”

Kylo arches an eyebrow, “What?”

“I can only imagine that this is meant to be recompense for some slight.” Hux continues, lower, “I can assure you, I have no idea what it is.”

“You-” Kylo pauses, and a rakish grin that Hux can only barely remember on the features of Kylo’s long-estranged father flashes across his features, “-Oh, no. It’s. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘Don’t worry about it’?” Hux says, “You aren’t even the slightest bit concerned about either of our- our enterprises, our reputations?”

Kylo shrugs, “Not mine.”

Hux contemplates the price of walking out _on_ Kylo Ren, “We’re meant to be working together.” He seethes, “Are you trying to ruin me? Is that it?”

“Maybe I’m just charitable.” This is easier, more familiar, this trading of barbs, and Kylo feels the knot in his stomach beginning to unwind when Hux rolls his eyes.

“Oh, very.” Hux sniffs.

By the time they’re led to the open-air lounge atop the building for their next courses, the sun has slouched beneath the horizon. Kylo finds his gaze on Hux’s eyelids, faint purple-grey in the dimming light. His lashes cut momentary slivers of gold against his cheeks.

“Did you fix my costumes for the show?” Kylo asks.

“Fix them?” Hux huffs, “I’ve redesigned your wardrobe to suit your palate, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“My palate?”

A faint smirk, “Yes. I’ve made you much more of a monster. It suits.”

“You think I’m a monster?” Kylo muses.

“Don’t you? Isn’t that what all of this-” Hux makes a vague motion towards him, “-is about?”

Kylo glances down at himself, “All of what?”

“All of this artifice, this whole...neo-gothic tragedy you’ve written yourself into.”

“Maybe I just am one.” Kylo retorts.

“God help us all.” Hux replies dryly. 

***

There’s a wine course - more of a bacchanal offering - somewhere towards the middle of their dinner, and after that, Hux finds the entire affair much more tolerable. Ren, for all of his brooding, is better read than he’d expected, and they grapple over their interpretations of fiction for nearly an hour. Hux notices a beauty mark just above his left eyebrow, then damns himself for his enthusiasm to catalogue it.

Their final course, fresh fruit and a handful of desserts, brings them back to the garden once more. Above them, the stars sprawl out as if suspended in velvet. Candles have been lit at all of the tables. The stone benches have grown cool in the night air, and Hux shivers as he sinks down onto one.

“Do you...are you cold?” Kylo asks.

“No.” Hux lies immediately.

Kylo watches him for a moment, “Yes you are.”

“I’m not.” Hux insists. He nearly jumps from his skin when Kylo begins peeling off his jacket, “Don’t. Don’t.”

Kylo pauses, “Why not?”

Hux’s eyes flick towards the photographers that remain on the pavement across the parking lot.

“Are you serious?” Kylo snorts, “What the big deal?”

“You know precisely what the ‘big deal’ is.” Hux hisses.

“What, because it looks so bad for you that you’re here with me?” Kylo says.

“It-” Hux takes a stilling breath, “The context, you can’t- People will think-”

Kylo is silent for a few long moments, studying him, “...Were you really dating Poe?”

“What?” Hux wheezes, and then, reflexively, “I’m not-”

“Neither of them are here to tell either of us what to do anymore.”

The weight of the statement seems to squeeze all of the perfumed air from the gardens. 

“...It hardly seems like it, sometimes.” Hux finally manages.

“Take my damned coat.” Kylo insists, offering it to him. 

Hux gives him a poisonous glare and drapes it over his shoulders.

***

Leia sweeps into the living room like a cold snap, and Kylo withers on the couch.

“I warned you.” She announces, “You never listen to me.”

With a sweep of her arm, she deposits a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of him. Kylo rolls his eyes and mutes the television. Propping himself up on one elbow, he snatches a magazine from the top of the pile. On the glossy front page an inset panel photograph of himself and Hux hangs at a flashy angle. ‘ _Caught on Camera: First Order Heirs Cementing Their Dynasty?’._

He nearly laughs, “It made _Us Weekly?_ ”

“I don’t see what’s so funny.” Leia says, “Do you know their circulation? Almost two million, Ben. Two _million._ ”

He leafs through the pages until he finds the accompanying article, “So?”

“‘So?’” Leia repeats, “So, that’s two million subscribers reading about your ‘lush, romantic evening’.”

“Do they really say that?” He skims the article, and this time does laugh, “Holy shit, they do.”

“Are you satisfied with yourself?” Leia grits, “You’re happy about how this is going to change your public image?”

“I’ve been telling you I like guys since I was fourteen.” Kylo grunts.

Leia stares at him, “What? No, no, not that. I- did you really think that was what I was worried about?” She scowls, “Jesus, I’m not his father, Ben. Date men, that’s completely fine.”

Kylo pauses and looks up to her, “Wait, what are you so angry about, then?”

“That boy-” Leia reaches down and taps Hux’s photo, “-is a ruthless monster.” 

“Huh?”

“He’ll stab you in the back if you give him an inch to do it.” She continues, “People know that about him. People will think that’s how _you_ do business. How do you think he got where he is?”

“Didn’t he just get his Dad to seed everything?”

Leia watches him grimly and shakes her head, “Not his label. Not a dime.”

“So how’d he pay startup costs?”

“Ask him.” Leia says, “See if he tells you. See if you’re so pleased with your little public affair then.” She glances down at the photos again, then scowls, “And for God’s sake, at least part your hair properly the next time.”

***

Hux triple checks the email address when the offer arrives. He Googles “Tracene Kane”, then the phone number she includes in her footer. Considers that it might be Ren himself. But no, it’s _Vanity Fair._

“ _-a feature on the creative control struggle First Order Records is facing in the wake of its founder’s passing-”_

A sigh slithers between his teeth. In all his idle fantasies about major publicity, he’s only ever considered answering questions about Finalizer. He can already almost feel them peeling back his skin to find Brendol laughing underneath.

But even a glancing mention of his brand in a publication this large-

Hux winces and massages at his temples.

***

The sun hangs low, slicing gold swatches through the slatted blinds of the First Order Records foyer as Hux crosses through it. He’s steeling himself, scrolling through the notes from the latest board meeting on his tablet when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hux, wait.”

Blinking, he glances back. Kylo gives him a stunted nod in greeting.

“You’re...getting ready for the meeting?” He asks. 

“I- yes?” Hux’s eyebrows cant, “Aren’t you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Kylo says.

Hux turns towards him and opens his hands, “Go on.”

Kylo chews the inside of his cheek a moment, “Not- not here. Can we- maybe we can meet for lunch this week?”

Hux watches him coolly for a few seconds, “...You can come to my studio on Thursday.”

“Your studio?” Kylo snorts, “And what, get takeout?”

“I’m not going out with you twice in a week.” Hux says, and then internally berates his own phrasing.

“Wh- it’s not a-”

“Being seen together.” He cuts him off, “Out.”

Kylo rolls his eyes, “Right, because I’m-”

“I know it may seem inconceivable, Ren, but not everything is about you.” Hux huffs, “Are you coming or not?”

“Fine.” Kylo grumbles, “Noon?”

“Noon.”

***

Hux has already finished his lunch when Kylo arrives at a quarter past twelve. He glances up from tucking away each container compartment into its case and arches a brow.

“I suppose I should hardly be surprised.” He sniffs as Kylo slings his jacket over the back of the chair opposite his desk. 

“Traffic.” Kylo grunts, “Ate on the way.”

“Charming. I only have another fifteen minutes, so I hope you haven’t got a great deal of whatever covert business you’re so eager to discuss.”

Kylo frowns, “Look, I- it’s just. We should do something, right? Something that makes it clear that FOR is ours. Especially with this article coming out. It’s the right time.”

“Of _course_ they’ve asked you for an interview as well..” Hux sighs, and then, “We...do technically own the majority share of the company if we combine our voting powers, I suppose.”

“But we let them keep running it. It’s stupid.” Kylo says, “We let them keep putting out the same shit.”

Hux, folding his hands on the desk in front of him, leans forward a fraction of an inch, “What are you proposing?”

“We should host a festival.” Kylo tells him, and presses on as Hux wrinkles his nose, “Think about it. Mix up our roster with a few other acts. Get new eyes on our stuff.”

“Festivals are nightmares.”

“So? It’s not like you and I are going to be working the sound booth.”

“Festivals are _logistical_ nightmares, Ren.” Hux argues, “And if you and I vote it to life, I seriously doubt that your mother will be much inclined to take the reigns.”

“You’re-” Kylo motions towards Hux’s pristine desk, “You’re good at that shit. Right?” He takes a slow breath, “I mean, how’d you get all this started?” He motions around the studio.

“My business affairs are none of your concern.” Hux sniffs, “And besides, I don’t have time to take on a risky project.”

“Then we’ll make sure it’s not risky. We’ll make sure people can’t miss it.” Kylo presses, “Make it the place to be seen for the year. I can get good artists.”

“I assume that you’re glorifying your own band. Are there others?” Hux drawls.

Kylo scowls, “That’s not what I meant. I could- I mean, yes, we’ll play it, but. Maybe I could get Rey.”

Brows lifting, Hux considers this for a long moment, “...Fine.”

Kylo blinks, “Wait, really?”

“If you can get adequate talent on the roster, I suppose I could vote in your favor.” Hux says, “But I want fifteen percent.”

“Of the whole take?” Kylo gags.

“Would you rather beg your mother to organize it?” Hux asks.

“Oh, fuck you.” Kylo growls.

Hux leans back, “That’s my offer.”

Kylo crosses his arms, seething. Then he groans and shoves a hand through his hair, “Fine. Fine.”

“Excellent.”

***

“Is all this stuff from your label?” Kylo grumbles as he thumbs through the dressing room wardrobe racks.Their hair and makeup has been made pristine already; Kylo’s skin feels unpleasantly heavy. 

“It was one of the stipulations of my agreement to the interview, yes.” Hux tells him from behind a divider as he buttons his shirt.

“So I have to wear it, too?”

“Did you have a specific clause stating otherwise?” Hux asks.

Kylo sniffs, “No.”

Hux steps out from behind the folding screen, smoothing his sleeves, “Then I suppose what is on the racks is what is available to you.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Kylo says.

“I’m a sound businessman.” Hux counters.

Kylo slides the hangers back and forth along the rack as he searches, “What’d you tell them when they did your interview?”

Hux shrugs and takes a seat at one of the vanity chairs, “The basics. About the upcoming festival, in nebulous terms.”

“Did they ask you about me?” Kylo says as he ducks behind the divder with an armful of clothing.

“Why on earth would they ask me about you?” Hux muses.

“They asked me about you.” Kylo tells him. 

Hux pauses in smoothing a few hairs in the mirror, “...Excuse me?”

Kylo slings his jacket and shirt up over the screen, “Yeah.”

Hux waits a few moments, then sighs, “Would you care to expound?”

“Stupid stuff.” Kylo says, and his jeans appear over the divider as well, “What you’re like to work with. What we do in our spare time. You know.”

“What _we_ do in our spare time?” Hux sniffs, “Why?”

“How should I know?”

Kylo steps from behind the screen. He’s pulled on a long black jacket over a gauzy, half-buttoned dress shirt, the latter tucked haphazardly into slim, black jeans. Hux quickly drops his gaze to his nails.

“This okay?” Kylo asks.

“It’ll do.” Hux says, not looking up. 

Kylo snorts, “Whatever.”

There’s a knock at the dressing room door, and a few minutes later, an intern is leading them through the corridors to one of the many photography studios.

“How many of these do they need?” Kylo asks quietly on the way.

“To accompany the article? I’ve no idea.” Hux replies.

The studio is already crowded with light stands and umbrellas. The photographer, a tall, sturdily built man with thick glasses and the longer part of his undercut piled up into a bun, extends one arm. Kylo shakes his hand, and Hux follows suite. 

“Mister Ren. Mister Hux. I’m Arthur Lugborn.” He tells them, “You can call me Lug. Everyone does.”

“Just Kylo is fine.”

“A pleasure.” Hux says, and then, “You’ve done shoots for my associate, Phasma, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You got me.” Lug agrees, “A great subject.”

“Fairly provocative work, if I recall.” Hux muses.

Lug shrugs, “She’s a complex woman. Lots to express.”

“Quite.”

Kylo glances between them. Hux’s features are placid, but the arc of his spine is rigid, and at his side, one index finger plays against his thumbnail. Kylo takes a slow breath.

“So...what are we doing?” He tries.

“I wanted to keep the background pretty minimal.” Lug says. He motions to the coal gray backdrop, on which several pieces of angular furniture, all black, have been arranged, “Keep with the Finalizer aesthetic as best I can.”

Hux’s chin tilts up minutely, appraising, and then a hint of a smile flicks across his lips, “I see.”

“What about me?” Kylo grumbles.

“See, I think that’s the interesting juxtaposition. Your whole-” Lug waves a hand messily over Kylo, “-brand against something more restrained. Keeps the sort of tension Tracene is looking for in the piece.”

Kylo blinks, “Tension?”

“Oh, you know. People asking about what direction First Order’s taking, who’s really steering the ship, all that.” Lug says easily.

Hux watches him with lips pursed, “...Mm.”

Lug gives him a knowing grin that turns Hux’s stomach. Slowly, Hux perches on one of the chairs, cool, dark concrete with merciless armrests rising from it. He wraps his hands around their sharp corners.

“Shall we?”

Kylo heaves a sigh and drops down opposite him, then winces on impact, “Jesus _Christ_.”

Hux rolls his eyes, “It’s brutalist, what did you expect?”

Lug kneels, glances through the viewfinder, and fires off a few shots as Kylo gives him a dour glare, “Maybe we could have you move a little closer together. Kylo, could we get you on the couch instead?”

“That’s a _couch?_ ” Kylo snorts.

“For God’s sake, Ren, I have appointments this afternoon.” Hux says. 

Kylo crosses his arms and slumps down onto the slab of stone, “Asshole.”

“Vulgar.”

“Mister Hux, maybe you can stand behind him?” Lug offers after a few clicks.

Hux rises, “I suppose.” His hands come to rest in the small of his back as he positions himself behind Kylo. Kylo glances up at him darkly, and Hux lifts one brow, “What?”

“You look like a mannequin.”

“I do not.” Hux objects

“You’re a little bit stiff.” Lug agrees, “Switch places?”

Nostrils flaring, Hux perches on the couch. He feels the small hairs at the back of his neck prickle as Kylo takes his place, a blur of black towering just at the corner of his vision. He swallows.

Lug crouches deeper quickly, “Better. Much better.” He says, face already hidden behind the camera.

Hux firms his jaw, leans defiantly backward a fraction of an inch. He hears Kylo inhale behind him. One hand drops to the edge of the couch, grasps the stone.

“Good, just like that. Lean back a little more.” Lug encourages, “Kylo, uncross your arms?”

Kylo’s fingertips graze Hux’s shoulder as they both obey. Hux bites down on the inside of his cheek. He can feel the warmth of Kylo’s body against his back, now, hovering an inch or two out of reach. His eyes dart toward him at the sensation, his chin tilting itself instinctively towards his shoulder.

“Great, stay right there a moment.”

Hux measures a breath. At this distance, he can smell his ( _overwrought, immature, absolutely licentious_ ) cologne, smell the way it mixes with the wool and cotton blend that he knows makes up his jacket. The way the amber hangs heavy in the fabric, the warmth of it coming alive against skin.

“My neck is going to cramp like this.” Hux huffs.

Lug peers up from the viewfinder, “Heard. Let’s try both of you standing. Something a little more combative. By the ottoman, I think.”

Hux stands and straightens his sleeves. Kylo withdraws from behind him, nearly stumbles into the backdrop in his haste. Hux moves to the ottoman, a featureless black cube, and stands to one side of it, arms crossed.

“What do I-?” Kylo makes a vague motion.

“Let’s have you on the other side. Maybe get a foot up there.” Lug suggests.

Hux tenses as Kylo takes his place, stubbornly refuses to flinch. Kylo’s eyes seek his out, uncertain. Hux narrows his and forces a sigh through his nose. 

“What, Ren?”

Kylo scrabbles for a frown, “Nothing.” He bites, “...Shut up.”

Hux hears Kylo’s throat click as he swallows, feels the whisper of his breath as he sighs. A terrible gravity begins to build somewhere in Hux’s chest. Kylo’s lips part. 

“Piss off.” Hux hisses.

“Fuck you.” Kylo whispers.

“Perfect, perfect. Lean in a hint.” Lug directs.

Kylo’s shoulders coil towards him. Hux remains motionless against the tug of want in his stomach.

“You have no idea how much I loathe you.” He breathes, barely audible.

Kylo’s teeth are gritted, “Try me.” He shoots back as his gaze flicks down to Hux’s mouth.

There’s blood rushing in Hux’s ears. His hands are claws, digging into the flesh of his biceps. All at once, there’s no air in the room that doesn’t reek of Ren. Seizing the shredded remains of his will, Hux jerks back.

“Is that enough?” He turns on Lug, haughty, “I have a collection to work on.”

Lug is wearing that absurd grin again. Hux considers striking it off of him, and instead settles for further twisting his fingers in the sleeves of his shirt. Kylo slinks back and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I think we can work with what we got.” Lug says.

***

Hux runs his fingertips over the garments he’s prepared for Kylo’s fitting, smoothing seams and plucking off flecks of lint, both minute and imagined. The studio yawns wide in the absence of its other employees, the sky beyond the windows dark but freckled with city lights. Hux glances down at his watch. Five to nine. He’d scheduled Kylo at eight thirty on the phone, nine in his own planner. He’s perched at one of the drafting tables, mug in hand, when Kylo stumbles in at 8:57.

“You’re early.” Hux muses.

Kylo blinks, excuse dropping from his lips, “Wh-?”

Hux brushes it off with a sweep of his hand, “Behind the screen.” He orders.

Snorting, Kylo shoulders off his jacket, “Hello to you, too.”

“Forgive me, I was unaware of your new penchant for social niceties.” Hux drawls as Kylo steps behind the divider in the corner of the studio.

“Fuck off.” Kylo shoots back venomlessly, and then, a minute later, “...How do you even get into this?”

Hux rolls his eyes, “Invisible zipper beneath the left armhole.”

“How am I supposed to close it?”

“You’ll each have a dresser.”

Kylo sighs, “Right. Some intern.”

“It’s generally a fairly entry-level position in the industry, yes.” Hux says.

“Why won’t you just come?” Kylo groans.

“Because I have a _job,_ Ren.”

There’s a shuffling of fabric, and a few grunts, “Why is this so tight?”

Hux smirks, “Have you grown?”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s meant to fit snugly.” Hux explains.

“‘Snug’ is a word for it.” Kylo grumbles. A minute passes as Kylo dresses, and then Hux hears him pause, “...We could pay your daily wages, you know.” He offers.

Hux arches an eyebrow, “And just how would that help me? Paying myself from FOR’s pocketbook? Shortchanging my own dividends?” He takes a sip of tea, then sniffs, “Besides, you can’t stand me.”

“I didn’t say you had to come on the tour bus with us.” Kylo grumbles.

“Of course, because a series of hotels will be so much more comfortable. Not to mention within your tour budget.”

“So approve a higher budget.”

“Again, Ren, I hardly intend to compensate myself with money from my own company.”

“It’s not just yours.” Kylo shoots back.

“Must you really make everything so difficult?” Hux sighs.

“You should talk.” Kylo mutters as he emerges from behind the screen.

Hux’s eyebrows lift. There are buckles to be buckled. Zippers to be zipped. But brought to life by Kylo’s body, the design breathes, a cage that barely holds the creature within it. Hux flushes.

“Is this...is it right?” Kylo asks.

“Come here.” Hux tells him, “It won’t look proper until it’s closed.”

Kylo snakes forward, and Hux, lips pursed, rises from his stool. His fingers find the first buckle, at Kylo’s neck. He can hear Kylo’s throat click as he closes it.

“It’s not- it doesn’t have to be super loose or anything.” Kylo tells him.

Hux’s eyes flick up to his. Kylo frowns, cheeks darkening. Taking a slow breath, Hux tightens the buckle.

“Better?” He asks.

“Mm.” Kylo gives an absent nod.

At the dip of his throat, a sliver of skin peeks between fabric and leather. Hux’s eyes catch on it as he moves towards the next buckle. He nearly winces, then hurries for the zipper beneath his arm. The breadth of Kylo’s shoulders strain the vinyl encasing them as he lifts his arm to accommodate the motion, and Hux can hear his breath falter.

“Hux-” He croaks.

“Too tight?” Hux cuts him off.

“No, it’s- I-”

“Good.”

His hands fall to his middle, fixing the various straps shut. Over the low slung waistband of his dark jeans, Hux can see the rising v of his hips, catches himself frozen at the sight of it. His pulse hammers in his ears. He allows to pad of one thumb to graze it on the way to another zipper. Kylo’s stomach jerks.

“Hux.” He says again.

“Must you-” All of the breath has gone out of his voice. Hux swallows it down firmly, “-must you insist on interrupting?”

Avoiding Kylo’s eyes, Hux’s gaze drags instead over his mouth, where he can see the blade of his tongue flick out to wet his plush lower lip. The ends of few dark curls cling just beneath his jaw. Hux feels the gravity between them claw into waking. His chest is tight, motionless.

“ _Hux-_ ”

He’s got him by the hair, fistfuls of black wrenched between his pale fingers, and Kylo is gasping, shattered, as Hux’s mouth attacks his. The kiss is bruising, teeth and need, relentless, breaking only for a sliver of breath before renewing itself again, again, _again._ Kylo stumbles back onto the stool, and Hux hooks one heel up on its lower wrung to leverage himself up over his lap.

“F-Fuck-” Kylo is stammering. His cock strains against the curve of Hux’s ass as he grinds breathlessly up between his thighs. 

Hux is electric with want. His fingers curl in Kylo’s hair, tug him, eager and panting, to the flesh of his own throat, where Kylo’s mouth obediently sucks a livid bruise. Hux hisses through his teeth and squirms down against him.

“Please-” Kylo begs.

“Ren, _fuck me._ ” Hux demands.

Kylo exhales, and then he’s got his arms around him, lifting him as if he were nothing to throw him back over a cutting table. Hux scrabbles above his head for the edge of it, bucks his hips up when Kylo goes to tug off his jeans. Kylo drags his legs up over his shoulders, and Hux lets out a startled cry as he begins, without a second thought, to work him open with his tongue.

“Ren!” He strangles, thrashing back against him.

Kylo presses into him, hot, _slick,_ and Hux has to bite into the heel of his thumb to stifle a moan. His back lifts up from the table as he rides down over Kylo’s mouth. He can feel himself coming apart, a pearl of precome dropping into the dip of his stomach.

“I-I need-” He pants helplessly.

Kylo’s eyes are dark when he comes up from between Hux’s thighs, pupils blown wide, lips stung, “What? What do you need?”

“You.” Hux manages, hands falling to claw at his shoulders, to drag him up over himself.

Kylo’s hands drop to free his cock, and Hux brackets his waist with his long thighs, urges him forward impatiently with his heels. Then, Kylo is splitting him, stretching him, forcing him open, and Hux is struck into a wordless wail.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Kylo grates, breath hot beneath his ear.

“Your fault.” Hux chokes, “You- you’re-” Kylo presses forward, and Hux bites out a litany of curses, “- _obscene._ ”

Kylo, chest heaving, gives him a worried glance, “Are you all ri-”

“Get _in me._ ” Hux spits.

Kylo shudders, and Hux, half-impaled, feels it inside him, sinks his nails into Kylo’s back and arches to force him deeper. Kylo groans and lets his forehead drop against his shoulder, where he murmurs his name over and over as he finally sheaths himself in him to the hilt. Hux’s body thrills against his, pinned beneath him like a moth. As Kylo begins to move within him, Hux matches each motion. His hips rise and fall as he shoves down against him, urges him _harder_ and _faster_ and _Ren,_ **_harder_ ** _._ Kylo is panting for breath. Hux’s hands are in his hair again. He kisses like a hammer striking an anvil, sets Kylo’s lips singing the same way.

“Come in me.” Hux is breathing against his mouth, gripping his face close to his.

Kylo’s breath hitches. Hux is watching him. His eyes are a wrecked maelstrom of want. His back is raw and stinging with the tracks Hux’s nails have left behind.

“Oh god, Hux-” He’s shuddering, and then he’s undone in the heat and desire of him, forged molten, pistoning his hips up against him to fill him. 

Hux throws his head back at the sudden blaze of it. Then one of Kylo’s hands is wrapped around him, and a few rough strokes drag him over the edge alongside him. Hux curses and shakes. His arms, clutched around Kylo’s shoulders, quake through the aftershocks.

They’re both gasping as the room slowly returns into focus around them. Hux hisses as Kylo withdraws. He moves to sit up, but Kylo’s arms linger around his waist.

“What are you doing?” Hux asks, voice ragged.

“Hnnh?”

“Let me up.”

Kylo blinks and leans back, “What?”

“Do you intend to keep me on the table all evening?” Hux says.

“I could.” Kylo offers him a faint grin.

Hux rolls his eyes and squirms from his grip. 

***

Two copies of _Vanity Fair_ are stacked on the corner of Hux’s desk, a complimentary issue resting open atop his monthly subscription. Hux pinches the bridge of his nose as he thumbs through the featured article. Swallows down bile at the sight of Kylo’s parted lips, his own hooded eyes. Has the distance between the two of them been edited?

“Damnit.” He hisses.

He pushes the magazine away and wrings his hands around his mug of tea. From his color-coordinated calendar on the office wall, the month’s board meeting for First Order Records stares back, looming less than an hour away. Hux snatches up both copies of the magazine and throws open his desk drawer. They give a feeble crinkle of protest as he buries them beneath a tidal wave of pens and binder clips. Elbows thudding against the desktop, he lets his face fall into his hands. 

He allows himself a moment to groan and smear both palms over his face before straightening once more. _Stop it. Stop._ He orders himself.

He can still feel heat in his cheeks, can picture the way splotches of color paint them. The air feels thinner each time he pulls it down his throat. His plunges his nails into his palms. _Enough of this. Ignore it. Forget it._

Snatching his keys up from their place in the desk caddy, he stalks from the office. It’s early - earlier than it needs to be - but the hint of sweat that he swears he can still smell in the studio is strangling. He burrows down into his scarf as he passes through and out into the afternoon.

He’s arrived in Santa Monica before he even realizes he’s in the car. Mitaka will, no doubt, be waiting in the foyer, ever the earliest of the board. The thought of weathering a polite conversation with him curdles something in Hux’s stomach. He stays in the driver’s seat instead. The sunlight has stretched long and orange over the parking lot. The shadows it leaves behind are sharp and distorted. Hux maneuvers himself into one of them, then leans his head back and allows his eyelids to flutter shut. 

He should have known. He should have known when they’d asked Kylo all of those leading questions. It would have been easy, from there, to take anything he’d said out of context. To position them just so.

He should ban Tracene Kane from his runways. Not that he’s certain she’s ever attended one. Nevertheless. 

There’s a tap on the window. Hux starts. His mouth is fixed into a frown even before he recognizes Kylo’s face outside the glass. He rolls the window down a few inches, and is about to bark a short “ _what?”_ when Kylo brushes his lips to his.

Color bursts in Hux’s cheeks, and he jerks back, “What are you- what on _earth-_ ” He stammers.

Kylo blinks, “What?”

Hux leans forward, eyes sweeping the parking lot for paparazzi. There are a handful of cars he doesn’t recognize, although the glare of the sunset prevents him from discerning whether or not they’re occupied. 

“Get in the car.” He hisses, “Now.”

Kylo arches an eyebrow. Hux makes a sharp motion to the passenger seat, and Kylo slides in beside him. When Hux pulls back out of the lot, he makes a concerned sound low in his throat.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I should ask you the same.” Hux spits, “Are you mad?”

“What? What did I do?”

Hux stares, “You absolutely cannot _-_ in what world did you imagine that appropriate?”

Kylo snorts, “Aren’t you the one who’s always kissing people on both cheeks?”

“That’s-” Hux tells him, “-that’s basic cultural literacy, Ren.”

“And? People kiss here all the time.” Kylo says.

“People who don’t have to mind their publicity.” Hux seethes, “People who haven’t recently had salacious articles published about them.”

“Wh-salacious?” Kylo’s eyebrows cant, “How was it salacious?”

“They made their speculations in regards to our relationship fairly clear.”

“I mean-” Kylo sniffs, “-they were right, weren’t they?”

“I’m sorry?” Hux gapes.

“Are you seriously playing dumb right now?” Kylo growls, “Hux, we fucked.”

“Yes, thank you, Ren, I was there.” Hux snaps, “I fail to see how that is something to which the general public should be privy.”

“Are you-” Kylo draws back a hint, “-are you ashamed of it?”

“Why are you making it out to be so gravely important?” Hux groans.

“Jesus Christ, you are.”

“It was one time!”

Kylo scowls, “Let me out of the car.”

“What, here?” Hux scoffs, “Planning to spend the evening on the beach?”

“Let me out.” Kylo insists.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“If you’re so ashamed of being near me, then let me the fuck out of the car!” Kylo snarls.

“We have a board meeting in twenty minutes!”

“I don’t care.” Kylo shoots back.

“Oh, fantastic, I suppose I’ll propose the festival you suggested myself, then.” Hux fumes, “What an incredible demonstration of your dedication to a new direction.”

Kylo scrabbles his fingers through his own hair, “God, I hate you so much.”

“Yes, Ren, I’m perfectly aware.” Hux says, “Are you coming to the meeting or- Jesus Christ!” He gasps as Kylo swings one door of the Bentley open. 

Hux slams his foot down on the brake pedal. Kylo storms onto the pavement and slings the door shut behind him. Hux cringes.

“Ren-”

“Don’t. Just- just shut up.”

Hux’s nostrils flare, “Fine. Then perhaps I’ll refrain from mentioning the festival at all.” He sneers, “One of those projects that just never seemed to get off the ground, mm?”

“Fine!” Kylo boils.

Hux’s fingers tighten on the wheel, “Fine.”

***

Hux purses his wine-dark lips as he absently strokes the ginger cat curled up on his stomach.

“-absolutely miserable.” He huffs to her, “Do you know that?”

Her green eyes slit open, and she gives the soundless gesture of a meow. 

“Yes, I know, I know, forgive me for disturbing you.” He sighs.

The flicker and flash of the muted television is all that lights the room, now. Hux glances at his watch. Two thirty four. He groans and rubs at his temples.

“Get up, Millie, it’s time for bed.”

The cat remains motionless, and Hux rolls his eyes and scrabbles for his wine glass on the coffee table. Empty again. He sloshes another measure from the bottle, sighs when what remains in it only fills the glass halfway. 

“You’re a terrible influence, you know.” He tells her. She gives him a lazy glance before sprawling out onto his chest.

Hux paws his phone from the table and glances muzzily at his messages. Nothing since the board meeting cancellation notice. He thumbs through his email to find only ads. Even Instagram offers only the usual evening fare, groups of women smiling with wine glasses, shots of half-finished projects spread out over sewing tables, selfies looking out over balconies onto the glittering city. He jabs an early morning alarm into the phone and then tosses it back into its resting place.

Stupid, really, utterly stupid to anticipate anything from him. Hux can barely remember the last time they texted one another directly instead of working through assistants. Their relationship is professional. Was professional. Is. Should be.

Smearing a hand over his eyes, he buries his face in the couch cushions.

He awakens an hour before the alarm to weight on his throat and fur smothering into his mouth. Hacking and cursing, he tumbles from beneath the cat, who gives him a disdainful glance as she pads off towards her dish. 

“Spoiled.” Hux grouses after her.

The six o’clock news is beams silently across the otherwise dark living room. Hux wrinkles his nose. Infotainment at its worst. He’s searching for the remote when Kylo’s face, bruised and bedraggled, flashes onscreen. Hux blinks and flips the volume back on.

“ _-was arrested last night after an inebriated altercation outside of nightlife hotspot Avalon Hollywood became physical.”_

“Oh, God.” Hux groans.

“ _Club patrons at the scene described Ren’s as ‘moody’, ‘stormy’, and even ‘volatile as soon as he arrived’._ ”

Hux hauls himself up from the couch, “Typical. Of course.”

“ _It seems Ren’s longtime feud with artist and producer Finn-_ ” 

The announcer’s voice cuts off as Hux re-mutes off the television. This time, when he looks down at his phone, there’s a single call from an unknown number at three AM.

“You’re kidding.” He says, dropping his face into his hands, “Why wouldn’t you call your _mother,_ you _idiot?_ ”

He’s about to set the phone down when it begins buzzing in his hand.

Hux rolls his eyes, “Speak of the devil.” He accepts the call, trying to clear the sleep from his voice, “Ms. Organa.”

The voice on the other side is tight and brisk, “Did you-”

“Yes, I saw.” Hux follows a string of insistent meows into the kitchen, holds the phone with his shoulder as he scoops food into the cat dish beside the refrigerator, “Is Finn pressing charges?”

“No. Thank God.”

“And Ren…?”

“I haven’t picked him up yet.”

Hux stifles a bark of laughter, “...I see.”

“Armitage-” Leia sighs.

Hux blanches, “You can’t possibly intend for _me_ to do it. Why not ask Rey?”

“I did.” She says sourly.

“Of course. Mitaka?”

“He’s not going to go anywhere with Mitaka, you know that. And I have court this morning.” 

“I promise you, he’ll be much less inclined to go with me.” Hux says.

“Did you two have a fight?”

Hux winces, “Why are you- why do you ask?” Then, sniffing, “Nevermind. Nevermind. Give me thirty minutes.”

Leia heaves another sigh, this one relieved, “Good.”

***

Hux adjusts his sunglasses as he brings his rented Honda to an idle outside the side entrance of the police station. Within minutes, the door swings open, and an officer steps through, Kylo, still in the previous day’s clothes, slouching behind him. One of his eyes is blackened. Hux spares the officer a fraction of a nod. She returns the gesture, and motions Kylo towards the car.

“Who the fuck did she-” Kylo is grumbling as he paws open the door. He freezes, “...Hux?”

Hux doesn’t face him, “Get in.”

Kylo tumbles into the passenger seat. He leans against the window as they begin to pull down the station driveway, “...Whose car is this?”

“Enterprise’s. I wasn’t about to come here in mine.” Hux replies.

Kylo snorts, then falls silent. He fumbles a neat plastic bag from his jacket pocket, unzips it and shakes out his phone, wallet, and keys before tossing it into the footwell.

“...C’we get breakfast?” He asks.

Hux rolls his eyes, “I’m certain your mother will order you something as soon as you wash up on her doorstep.”

Kylo groans, “Hux, please? I’m gonna’ throw up otherwise.”

Wincing, Hux nudges the car into the right lane, “What do you want?”

“Anything that’s food.”

“Drive-thru hardly counts as food.”

Kylo whines wordlessly and covers his eyes with the seam of one hand. It’s only after he’s worked his way through a brown paper bag containing three breakfast sandwiches that he speaks up again, “Why did you come get me?”

“Someone had to.” Hux huffs.

“My Mom-”

“Had court.” Hux finishes.

Kylo’s eyes narrow, “She told you to.”

“Did you think that I had planned to spend my morning this way myself?”

“What the fuck? Why do you listen to her?” Kylo asks, then cuts him off as he opens his mouth to reply, “Right, right, _favors_.”

Hux’s grip tightens on the wheel, and his mouth sets itself into a dour line. Kylo crosses his arms and sinks deeper into the seat.

“Y’know, maybe if you fucking told me anything, I could get her off your back.” He grumbles.

“You can’t even keep her off of your own.” Hux sneers.

“Why are you such an asshole?!” Kylo snaps.

“I’m not the one who started a drunken fight last night.” Hux shoots back.

“No, you’re just the one who- who starts something with someone and then treats them like shit on the bottom of your fucking shoe.” Kylo snarls.

“Starts something?!” Hux says, “And just what sort of ‘something’ are you accusing me of starting?”

“Are you serious? Are you serious right now?” Kylo growls. He claws back through his hair with both hands, gritting his teeth, “You can’t tell me that there’s nothing-” He clenches his fists against his forehead, “That you- did you just-” He strangles out, “You just...you just wanted to fuck, and that’s-? That’s it?”

Hux feels his cheeks flush, “Ren, stop it.” He demands.

“No!” Kylo barks, “Tell me!”

“Tell you what?!” Hux spits, “What is there to tell?!”

“Tell me that it was just a stupid, worthless fling to you. Tell me.” Kylo presses. 

“You hate me.” Hux says, “You just told me so again last night.”

Kylo winces, “Hux, I-I-”

“You do.” Hux insists, “And you have every right to. We’re nothing alike. We bear with one another for the good of the company.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Kylo asks quietly.

Hux gives an indignant hiss and falls silent. After a moment, he stabs the radio on with one finger. Kylo’s voice howls back at them from the speakers.

“God, I hate this song.” Kylo murmurs as he lets the side of his forehead fall against the window.

“Didn’t you write it?” Hux’s voice is too small, too tight, and he swallows quickly.

Kylo gives a huff of bitter laughter, “Yeah. I did.”

“...It isn’t the worst I’ve heard.” Hux says after a moment.

Kylo glances back over at him, watches him as Hux resolutely watches the road, “Hux.”

“What is it, Ren?”

“Come on the tour. Please.” He says softly.

Hux takes a deep breath, lets it trickle out of him before he speaks, “...Fine.”

***

The crew is wheeling out the amps and drum set on dollies by the time Hux makes it to Kylo’s dressing room from the backstage wardrobe area. When he swings the door open, Kylo looks back at him over his shoulder. In the light of the vanity, Hux can just barely make out the ghost of the slowly healing black eye beneath his stage makeup. He’s halfway out of his costume, the accessories scattered around his chair.

“Did you leave everything on the floor just to torment me?” Hux asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Maybe I did.” Kylo gives a half-grin. His voice is hoarse.

“I’m not letting you out of that until you pick up.” Hux sniffs.

“What?!”

“Go on.”

Rolling his eyes, Kylo stoops down to toss the fallen costume pieces onto the vanity table. Hux steps over beside him, fits them carefully onto hangers and into drawers.

“Turn around.” Hux orders once Kylo has straightened once more. 

Kylo obeys, and Hux begins undoing buckles and zips. Kylo, cheeks still faintly ruddy, radiates heat into his fingertips. Hux swallows as he remembers the way that the planes of his broad chest feel beneath his palms. The way that Kylo’s voice sounds, breaking ragged on his name. The way that Kylo’s hair feels gripped in his hands, the way he winces with delight when Hux pulls. Hux’s eyes flick up to Kylo’s, only to find him already watching him.

“It would be a terrible idea, you know.” Hux says as he glances back down to his work.

Kylo blinks, “What would?”

“‘Starting something’, as you put it the other day.”

He can feel Kylo freeze. Then, one of his broad hands curls around Hux’s wrist.

“Really?” Kylo asks quietly.

“Ludicrously bad.” Hux tells him.

“Pretty awful.” Kylo says.

“I’m glad we’re agreed.” Hux breathes. He shivers as Kylo’s teeth graze along the paper thin skin at the inside of his wrist, “Ren-”

“Hux.” Kylo pleads. His other hand finds Hux’s waist to draw him closer.

Hux lets himself be moved, stifles a gasp when Kylo brings their bodies together. His free hand drifts up and over Kylo’s shoulder to anchor itself in his hair. The resulting shudder brings a hint of a smirk to his lips.

“Do you always appreciate that so much?” He asks.

“Like wh- _nngh._ ” Kylo jerks up against him as Hux gives another tug for emphasis.

“I suspected as much.” Hux muses.

“Suspect whatever you like.” Kylo pants, bringing their lips together in short, sharp bursts, “Just keep doing it.”

“You might consider returning the favor sometime.” Hux offers.

Kylo’s gaze snaps up to his, “...Really?”

The line of Hux’s mouth slims, “You needn’t act so surprised about it, I’m merely-”

And then Kylo has him by a fistful of red hair and Hux’s mind swims deliciously. He slides a hand under the back of Kylo’s shirt, drags his nails between his shoulderblades, presses into him. Kylo’s mouth finds the hollow of his throat, and Hux gives an electrified sigh.

“Ren-” He groans as their hips work against one another’s.

Kylo’s other hand works its way into Hux’s jeans to find him already hard and wanting. When he wraps his fingers around him, Hux lets out a little keen high in his throat. His head falls onto Kylo’s shoulder as he works him, and his hips stutter into the rhythm that Kylo sets.

“Good?” Kylo whispers beside his ear.

The heat of it prickles the small hairs at the nape of his neck. Hux gives a helpless nod. Kylo’s grip is tight, and Hux throws himself into the sensation of it with furrowed brows and barely-contained whimpers that drop into Kylo’s shoulder like a prayer.

“W-Want you.” He manages as he feels his body begin to tense.

Kylo’s hand stills, and Hux gives a staggered hiss. His hand fists in Hux’s hair again, and any protest evaporates as Hux finds himself shoved down over the vanity desk. His jeans are tugged down over his hips, and he can hear, to both his horror and longing, Kylo lick his own fingers.

“Oh, god.” Hux drops his forehead against the table as Kylo works the first up into him. It’s slow at first, careful, but bolder as Hux begins to buck back against it. Soon enough, a second joins it, and then Kylo is fucking him with them in earnest. Hux shudders at the thought of him undoing him here, over the table, a hair’s breadth from discovery. He can feel a bead of precome clinging to the tip of his cock, feels it drip onto the floor beneath them and thrills at the idea of so perversely marking this place as his, theirs. 

Kylo’s breath is coming harsh over his shoulder. Hux twists back to slot their mouths together and tightens tantalizingly around his fingers. Kylo’s answering moan knocks the breath from his chest.

“Please.” Hux hears himself beg, his voice is twisted with want despite all attempts to the contrary.

Kylo draws his fingers back. Hux barely has time to contemplate the loss before Kylo’s cock is lined up against him.

“Oh, Ren, yes.” He exhales.

The world narrows into heat and sensation alone as Kylo breaches him. Hux can hear his own ragged breath against the vanity as he struggles to relax enough to take his full length. Kylo’s hands are on his hips, surprisingly gentle, soothing, although Hux can feel the tension in them, the restraint it’s taking Kylo to keep from dragging him down onto himself.

“...Do it.” Hux pants, chest heaving on the table.

“Nnh?” Kylo is biting his lip in concentration, brows furrowed.

Hux is shaking, now, unable to hold himself back, “...Force your cock into me.”

Kylo loses his breath all at once. Hux can feel his fingers tighten on his hips. He lets out a slow breath, braces himself.

It’s punishing, the way that Kylo seizes him, nearly lifts him from the floor as he yanks him back. Hux yelps as he feels Kylo’s hips strike him. His body is white-hot, pain and tight and _full_ and oh god, he’s done it, he’s in him. Hux’s toes curl as he quakes.

“ _Ren!_ ” He cries, writhing.

Kylo is groaning his name like a gutted mantra, and when he begins to move again, Hux swears that he comes close to fainting.

“Please.” He urges as the storm of his need wells up in him like a tsunami, “Please, don’t be gentle.”

It’s all it takes to set Kylo into motion, and Hux thrashes in delight beneath him at the brutal force of it. A makeup palette clatters to the floor. Hux has to brace a hand on the mirror to keep from being thrown up against it. Distantly, he can hear himself howling for more, sobbing for him. When his orgasm takes him, it’s with a sudden ferocity that buckles his knees, paints his vision in neon, and then Kylo’s grip is all that’s supporting his convulsing body as Hux feels him spill inside him, too. 

He’s boneless as Kylo rides out his pleasure, fucked wordless and spent. When Kylo lifts him up and sprawls out on the dressing room couch beneath him, Hux merely gives an appreciative moan. One of Kylo’s hands finds the small of his back as the other cups the nape of his neck.

“A disaster, really.” He finally croaks when he finds his voice again. He can feel Kylo’s heart thrumming against his cheek. He takes a breath, then another, “...We could discuss the festival at the next board meeting. If you wanted.”

Kylo noses into his hair, “Only if I can take you to dinner first.” He says.

Hux licks his dry lips, finds Kylo’s hip with his palm, “I suppose it could be arranged.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My magnificent artist for this year's KBB was Invadxrs! Their prompt and artwork is an absolute effing blessing. We're both on tumblr; you can find us at @invadxrs and @clutchhedonist.


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